


just fly or drive your way

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Basically, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Honeymoon, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Playing House, Porn with Feelings, Schmoop, Second honeymoon, etc - Freeform, fluffy nonsense, more fic about gavin belson 2k16, of course they're ooc do i look like a writer to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What kinds of things do normal people do after getting married?” </p>
<p>“Uhhh,” Richard says. “I dunno. Grocery shopping? And, like… fixing stuff? With tools. Mowing the lawn.”</p>
<p>“Theoretically,” Gavin says, “we could do all of those things. We’re normal.”</p>
<p>Richard squints at him. Judging by his face, he’s being serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just fly or drive your way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/gifts).



> This is a present for @rillrill that is somehow now 4k? That was weird of me. Title from "Come to L.A." by Pretty Sister.

The afternoon they get back from Goa, Gavin has someone waiting to carry their bags in from the helipad. Richard holds on to his carry-on, though, unzips it and lays it out on the floor of the- of their bedroom. He looks at the contents, truly considers unpacking right away, like a functional,  _ married _ thirty-year-old adult. In the end, though, he just lays back on the rug, splaying his limbs out toward the corners of the room. 

 

Gavin kicks Richard’s left foot gently when he finally (well, not finally, maybe ten minutes later) comes into the room. 

 

“Richard,” he says. “What in fuck’s name are you doing?”

 

“What,” Richard says. 

 

“May I remind you,” and here Gavin makes an overdramatic gesture- “that mere feet away is the- reasonably expensive, I might add- brand new marital bed which we purchased for this express purpose?”

 

“Really?” Richard says, the urge to be a little shit just irresistible, “see, I kinda thought we bought it for a different purpose.”

 

“Well, that too,” Gavin says. “Either way you need to get up off the floor.”

 

This is not their first time having this conversation. Richard reaches out one arm, pulls at the hem of Gavin’s jeans. 

 

“I mean,” he says. “Or you could come down here.”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes, but he sits down cross-legged on the floor. Richard pulls Gavin’s left hand over, holding it right over his face and fidgeting with the ring there absently. 

 

“So,” Gavin says after a while. 

 

“So?”

 

“I have to admit I am a bit- uncertain. Re: next steps, that is. Now that the honeymoon is officially over.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m married to someone who just used the word ‘re’ in a spoken conversation,” says Richard. Gavin harrumphs. 

 

“Anyway,” Richard continues, flipping over so he’s lying on his stomach, “I guess I dunno either? Like, we don’t really need to do any of the normal-people newlywed stuff. And it’s not like we’re moving in together for the first time or anything, so. Maybe we just go back to normal?”

As he’s saying it, Richard tries to recall the last time things were  _ normal _ . It must have been at least six months ago- they’d both taken a miraculous three and a half months off for the honeymoon alone, and before that the wedding preparations had just gotten progressively more and more insane in the lead-up to the ceremony, culminating in a full-blown, screaming-and-storming-out level fight about types of champagne glasses. 

 

Thinking back a little further, Richard supposes this ‘normal’ life had involved a lot more work, at the separate companies they run, which had meant that they saw a lot less of each other overall than they have lately. A quiet voice in the corner of Richard’s mind wonders if Gavin doesn’t miss that- logically, he knows that they are now Officially and Publicly In Love and everything, and  _ he  _ hasn’t gotten tired of having Gavin around more often than not, but. Still. Richard is neurotic, and sort of awkward, and is always doing weird-ass stuff like lying on the floor of a hundred-million-dollar house to have a think. Richard wouldn’t be offended if Gavin needed a break. 

 

“What do you mean by ‘normal-people stuff’?” Gavin asks. 

 

“What?” Richard says dumbly. He’d actually sort of forgotten they were in the middle of a conversation. 

 

“What kinds of things do normal people do after getting married?” 

 

“Uhhh,” Richard says. He thinks about his parents, then quickly stops thinking about his parents because. Ew. Next, he thinks about his sister and her husband, which is marginally less weird. 

 

“I dunno. Grocery shopping? And, like… fixing stuff? With tools. Mowing the lawn.” He shrugs. Most of these mundanities are out of sight and mind when it comes to Gavin’s (their) place, taken care of discretely by an army of hired help and bots of various kinds. 

 

“Theoretically,” Gavin says, “we could do all of those things. We’re normal.”

 

Richard squints at him. Judging by his face, he’s being serious.

 

“I mean,” Richard says. “Not really? You’re gonna get mobbed if you try to roll up to the Safeway or whatever.”

 

“Hmm,” Gavin says. “Within the Bay Area, yes. Not in Los Angeles, though. Once you get a couple real celebrities within the ten mile radius- I’ve never been recognized.”

 

“What are you saying?” Richard asks. “You want to go all the way to LA just to go grocery shopping?” 

 

“I have a place there, you know,” Gavin says.

 

“Of course you do,” Richard says, rubbing his eyes. At this point, he will be more surprised to hear of a North American metropolis where Gavin  _ doesn’t  _ own some kind of property. “You realize we literally just took three months off, right? I dunno about you, but I actually play a pretty key role in the day-to-day operations of the company I founded. So. I do need to get back to work at some point.”

 

Gavin, surprisingly, does not rise to the bait. “Soon, though,” he says instead, and kisses RIchard’s forehead like a fucking weirdo before getting up off the floor. Richard rolls his eyes and flips back over onto his back again. Within five minutes he’s half-asleep, having forgotten the conversation completely. 

 

\---

 

Gavin does not forget. For such an old man, Richard often teases, he has a pretty good memory. The next time it comes up they’re discussing clothing- Gavin has signed them on to be profiled by one stupid magazine or another, and now seems to expect Richard to undergo a full Princess Diaries-style makeover in preparation for being photographed once. It’s an interior design piece; Gavin’s touch-smart, light-up kitchen counters will probably feature more prominently than his trophy tech-startup boyfriend. 

 

Husband.

 

“All I’m saying is, I can legit promise you that a haircut will  _ only  _ make me look worse. Trust me. I have, like, thirty-one years of experience with this.” Richard runs an emphatic hand through his tangled curls. “It starts looking okay, like, two-and-a-half weeks after. At best.”

 

“Fine,” Gavin says. “But you have to meet with Valencia tomorrow morning when she gets here.”

 

“Valencia?”

 

“My personal stylist.”

 

“Your what now?” 

 

“My personal stylist- you met her, Richard. She did all your suit fittings-”

 

“Oh, her? I thought she was one of the 1,000 extraneous people you hired for the wedding. Gavin, like, how much are you paying her? You wear that same black windbreaker every day.” Richard sighs. “Rich people.”

 

“You’re quite wealthy as well, actually, if you examine the terms of our prenuptial agreement-”

 

“Shut up, Gavin. You know what I mean.”

 

“Well. Anyway, Valencia will be here at 10:30. That’s set in stone. Just let her find you some decent pants, at least. It won’t kill you.”

 

“Okay, two things. First, you remember how you used to ask me why pretending you were one of my parents was not sexy to me?”

 

“That’s not exactly-”

 

“This. This is why. Second of all, if you’re wondering why you’re not normal? A normal person wouldn’t hire a  _ stylist  _ to pick out their  _ hoodies  _ for them. They would go to a fucking store.”

 

Gavin’s crowding into his space now, reaches out and pinches Richard’s side, forcing him to laugh. Gavin raises his eyebrows. 

 

“Is this actually bothering you?” Richard rolls his eyes. 

 

“No,” he says. “No, I just think you-” he has to take a short break in the conversation to press their mouths together, though, threading a hand through Gavin’s product-stiff hair- it’s involuntary, basically. Gavin just smells so good, and he’s  _ right there _ , y’know- Richard pulls back. 

 

“I just think you’re stupid,” he finishes. 

 

\---

 

The day of the photoshoot, Richard checks his Hooli calendar to find the next week blocked out in magenta, with a helpful note from Gavin. 

 

I CLEARED YOUR SCHEDULE, it reads. WE R GOING TO LA TO B NORMAL. Gavin’s internet speak often has an embarrassing late-90s bent to it. 

 

\---

 

The LA house is nice in a reasonable way. It’s big and fancy enough that Richard would have considered a grade-school classmate who lived there “rich”; now it looks like the height of moderation. 

 

“Look,” Gavin is saying. “This lawn is perfect for mowing.” 

 

“Mhmm,” Richard says. It is just a normal grass yard, whereas the main house is surrounded by rocks and trees and ‘native plants’, whatever that means (not to mention the comically huge Zen garden). It’s counterintuitive, given how much worse the drought is down here in SoCal, but… 

 

“Do you have a lawn mower?” Richard asks. 

 

“No,” Gavin says. “But I told the usual landscaping crew to take the week off. We can go purchase a mower now, if you’re up for it.” 

 

Richard pokes a toe into the grass doubtfully. “You might want to wait a couple days,” he says. “Just, like, until there’s something to actually. Mow.” 

 

“Fine,” Gavin says jovially. “Any ideas on what to do in the meantime?” He’s already pulling Richard in by the hem of his shirt. 

 

\---

 

“Gavin,” Richard says, staring down in exasperation at the contents of the cart. “We’re only here for six days.”

 

“Right,” Gavin says, looking at him blankly. 

 

“Right. So do we need…” Richard digs around in the basket with one hand- “ _ six _ boxes of cereal?”

 

“Well, several new varieties of breakfast cereal have come onto the market in the decades since I last ate such a carbohydrate-heavy breakfast.”

 

Luckily, they already got the “no ridiculous macro-bullshit raw pescatarian diets while we’re on vacation” debate out of the way on the first honeymoon, which meant Gavin had been willing to forgo the Whole Foods and settle for a poorly-lit Ralphs where some of the produce is -  _ gasp _ ! - not even organic. Gavin seems to have swung wildly to the other extreme, though: if Richard had seen this cart left unaccompanied in an aisle, he would’ve assumed that the embattled working mother of five it belonged to had just stepped away momentarily. 

 

“Gavin, you barely eat meat. Do we need steaks, salmon, a whole chicken,  _ and  _ a thing of bacon?”

 

“Why not? Richard, I’m a billionaire. We can just throw away whatever we don’t eat.”

 

By the time they get up to the checkout line, where Gavin tries to use all twenty of the coupons he’d pulled out of the little dispensers across the store- (Richard had tried to explain that you shouldn’t buy two or three of some random item you didn’t even want just so you could get the 15¢ off, but Gavin wanted none of it) - anyway, when Gavin starts arguing with the cashier Richard’s secondhand embarrassment gets so bad that he has to go and wait in the car. 

 

“Sorry,” he mouths at the three store employees who are now gathered around the register, trying to do some kind of manual override. In the car, Richard reclines his seat back as far as it’ll go, so no one walking by can even see him. 

 

\---

 

This is not the first and won’t be the last time Gavin gets obsessively into some new hobby or lifestyle for a month before dropping it. In fact, this is a mild one compared to the vow of silence or that time with all the snakes… Anyway, he gets so into playing house that Richard has to admit to himself after a couple days that it’s kind of fun- cooking and eating three meals a day together, trading off who rinses the dishes and who puts them in the dishwasher; watching the local news and shitty reality TV on a normal-sized screen; doing a totally unnecessary load of laundry just for the sake of it- although that last one comes after what might be considered the highlight of the trip. 

 

On the fourth day, Gavin gets tired of waiting and they go to the Home Depot. All they actually need (for a given value of ‘need’) is the lawn mower, but Gavin insists on walking up and down every aisle. Whenever they find one unpopulated by sales associates or other customers - which is reasonably easy, given that it’s a weekday morning- Gavin presses him back against the racks and kisses him emphatically until they see or hear someone coming, at which point they spring apart as if they were teenagers sneaking around and not two adult, married people. This is a very stupid game, but Gavin is and has always been an unfairly good kisser, so Richard is blaming that for his furious blush, and for the fact that when Gavin makes a ‘joke’ about buying some lumber to build him a St. Andrew's cross in the backyard, Richard’s knees almost buckle and he forgets to laugh. 

 

When Gavin starts sucking bruises into his neck under the glow of a hundred different light fixtures, though, Richard’s had enough. 

 

“Can,” he gasps, trying to keep his breathing under control, “can we go now? Are you buying the thing or not?”

 

“In a minute,” Gavin says. 

 

“ _ Gavin _ .”   

 

“I love you,” Gavin says.

 

“Yeah, I know, same,” Richard sighs, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. “Go get your stupid lawn mower and you can love me at home, like a normal person.”

 

“There goes that word again.”

 

Gavin does pick out a lawn mower, finally, shelling out the extra hundred bucks, of course, for electric instead of gas-powered - and that’s how Richard ends up leaning against the railing of the back porch, nursing his second Corona and watching Gavin struggle with the machine. Of course, it doesn’t  _ help  _ that there is generously a quarter inch’s worth of growth to trim, but even so it’s funny that Gavin, a known genius, never apparently learned how to do this fairly basic, menial task. The first row looked okay, but when he’d turned to head back the other way he’d missed a good three inches, an uneven little border patch. Richard had done a better job than this at thirteen. He’s tempted to send a picture to his dad, looks down at his phone, but in the couple seconds it takes to get from the lock screen to the camera, Gavin is coming up the porch stairs. Richard looks at the lawn- maybe ⅕ of the way mowed, mower abandoned at the halfway point- and then back at his husband. 

 

“Was it everything you dreamed of?” he asks. 

 

“It’s hot,” Gavin says, a non-answer. Richard hums in agreement, lifting up Gavin’s sweat-soaked t-shirt to thumb over his abs appreciatively. Gavin smells terrible. His calves are smeared with mud, somehow, and the shirt has grass stains on it (how? He’d been out there for fifteen minutes); the back of his neck is starting to burn.   
  


“You should fuck me out here,” Richard says, and if he ends up with a couple splinters in his upper thigh it will have been worth it. 

\---

 

On their second-to-last night in LA, Richard is actually getting a little work done on his laptop, feet on Gavin’s lap on the living room couch. Meanwhile Gavin is reading the  _ physical newspaper _ , which Richard had bought at the corner store this morning as a joke about how fucking old he is. Joke’s on Richard, apparently. 

 

“Richard,” Gavin says. “Would you-”

 

Richard looks up. “Would I what?”

 

“Uh,” Gavin says, and now Richard is nervous. It’s not like Gavin to hesitate, not about anything. On cue, though, Gavin looks up from the Business section and must see Richard’s internal monologue on his face- he’s good at that- because he squeezes Richard’s ankle reassuringly. 

 

“Let’s go to the movies,” he says, and Richard lets out an involuntary nervous laugh. 

 

“What?” Gavin likes movies, yeah, but as a multi-billionaire who owns equity in several major production companies, Richard’s always known him to get screeners for anything that interests him weeks in advance and watch them in his crazy over-the-top “immersive experience” screening room at the house. 

 

“Let’s go to the movies,” Gavin says again. 

 

“Like, the movie  _ theater _ ? Where the regular people are? Are you sure?”

 

“Wasn’t the whole point of this trip that we  _ are  _ the regular people?” 

 

“Uh,” Richard says, scratching his nose. “I mean, if you’re sure. What’s playing?”

 

They end up seeing some shitty sci-fi sequel that opened while they were still out of the country, so long ago that Richard’s surprised it’s even still playing. He’s even more surprised to see a smattering of other people in the theater, watching the bullshit trivia slideshow that comes on before the previews. Gavin, holding enough concessions to feed an entire kindergarten class, (like, Richard  _ knows  _ that they have the money, but he still can’t get over how wasteful and crazy it feels to practically buy one of everything behind the counter, thinks the girl ringing them up just has to be judging them) jerks his head at the screen. 

 

“What is this? Why are they asking about Ben Affleck movies of the early aughts?”

 

“It’s just trivia,” Richard says. “They do this before every movie. The previews will start in a minute, can we just sit down?”

 

They make it through the previews okay, and Richard is just starting to actually follow the plot when he feels a warm hand skim over his knee. He doesn’t mean to jump, not sure why this takes him by surprise. Gavin looks at him with a face like  _ what the fuck? _

 

“Nothing,” Richard whispers. “It’s fine.” It is fine, Gavin’s really not doing anything, the familiar weight of his hand now just resting on Richard’s thigh, but Richard’s suddenly reminded of the last time (the only other time, actually) that he’d been sitting in a dark movie theater with a person of romantic interest. 

 

It had been in the eleventh grade, on a date with a freshman girl named Amanda from concert band. She’d asked him out and he’d sort of panicked and made a noise which had been taken for a yes. She was cute, probably too cute to be watching Spider-Man 2 and unbuttoning Richard’s jeans with one of her tiny hands. Her nail polish was purple. Richard remembers being totally hard but also  _ really  _ sweaty, so much so that his palms were itchy, and he’d reached down to dry them on his jeans and sort of knocked her hand out of the way, and then someone had laughed at whatever was going on onscreen and he’d jumped and said “I gotta go use the bathroom,” barely getting his pants zipped before he bolted. 

 

Instead of going to the bathroom, he’d called Bighead to come pick him up (somehow Bighead had a car like two years before Richard got his). Amanda’s friends in the woodwinds section had made a whole thing of shunning Richard after that, and he had felt genuinely bad about hurting her feelings, but. Like. Not as bad as he would have felt about anxiety vomiting popcorn and icee all over her arm. 

 

Anyway. Gavin’s really not even doing anything right now, but Richard still has the irrational feeling that they’re going to get caught, that the attendant is gonna come by with the little flashlight wanting to check their tickets or something. He breathes through it, and after ten minutes or so the feeling passes. 

 

Ten or twenty minutes after that, the slow migration of Gavin’s hand up his thigh starts to feel- well, the steady, repeated drag of two fingers in a line, skimming right along the inner seam of his jeans, three or four inches towards his crotch and then away again, punctuated by Gavin getting a hand almost all the way around his leg and squeezing a couple times- it’s interesting. Richard feels himself starting to get impatient- it’s so  _ close  _ but not enough, in a fittingly but irritatingly high school kind of way. 

 

“Gavin,” he finally whimpers, under his breath. “Stop.”

 

Gavin raises an eyebrow. “No, I mean,” Richard says, huffing impatiently. “You know. Please?” 

 

He’s not sure what exactly he meant by that- maybe just for Gavin to move his hand up a couple inches, stroke him through the denim, just to take the edge off a bit. He definitely wasn’t expecting his crazy, multibillionaire, middle-aged husband to sink to his knees on the disgusting, sticky floor of a Los Angeles movie theater. Gavin moves to sit at Richard’s feet, pushing his thighs apart even wider.

 

“Oh my god.  _ What are you doing? _ ” Richard whispers furiously. Gavin grins up at him. His eyes are glinting in the low light. If they get caught and arrested-- there are real paparazzi down here. They’re playing with fire. 

 

Gavin leans forward to mouth at the outline of Richard’s cock. When he bites down on it, gently at first and then just a  _ little  _ harder, through the layers of fabric, Richard’s hips jerk and he almost cries out.  _ Fuck.  _

 

The problem is, Richard’s torn between wanting to tell Gavin- well, tell him something: to stop, or to hurry up, or to never fucking stop, or just that he’s batshit crazy- anyway, he’s torn between that, and the knowledge that making more noise increases the likelihood that they’ll be caught. He clamps a hand over his mouth. 

 

A normal person would not be doing what Gavin is doing right now. A halfway reasonable person, at least, would make a public blowjob quick, discreet, maybe a little sloppy, but overall keep it simple. Gavin, for his part, seems to be in no particular rush. He spends several long minutes just sucking at the crotch of Richard’s jeans, until he’s created a respectably sized wet spot. Richard tries to breathe and focus on the spaceships and buildings exploding onscreen. He’s not going to beg, because that would a) be humiliating and b) make noise. He’s keenly focused on the other configurations of people in the theater- four teenagers a couple rows from the screen, a couple off to the side chastely kissing- he double checks that there’s no one behind them. They’re pretty close to the back of the theater, at least. 

 

After what seems like an eternity, Gavin either gets bored or takes pity on him and actually unbuttons Richard’s jeans, moves his boxers out of the way. Again, he does not seem to be feeling any particular or special urgency, licking leisurely up the sides of Richard’s cock, dropping several wet kisses on his balls, running a fingernail lightly along the wet tip. Richard’s skin is hot all over, prickly. He wonders if he might actually be dying. Gavin presses one thumb into each of Richard’s thighs as he sinks down and takes Richard in to the hilt in one smooth motion. 

 

_ Of all the fucking times to be a show-off, _ Richard thinks while he is still able to think. After thirty seconds or so of Gavin bobbing steadily up and down, no doubt doing that circular breathing thing he’s always going on about, the caliber of Richard’s interior monologue deteriorates significantly.  _ Good good so good oh my god yes fuck yes Gavin yes oh, oh-  _ he should feel self-conscious about how quickly he gets close, but then again it is of paramount importance that he finish before the movie does, because every other shitty person in this theater is going to pass them on their way towards the exits. Richard’s biting down on his palm, hard, although he’s pretty sure he’s making some level of sound anyway, but he uses the other hand to tap the side of Gavin’s head in warning. 

 

Gavin flicks his eyes up and kind of shrugs, as if to say  _ What? You wanna come on the floor of the fucking theater? _ Richard has just enough time to acknowledge the point before he’s shooting into Gavin’s mouth. Usually when they do this, Gavin will make him taste his own come afterwards, but apparently there are limits to what will be done in this very public setting. Not a lot of limits, but still. This once, Gavin just swallows and looks self-satisfied. 

 

Richard feels very appreciative, the endorphins having pushed out the last of his anxiety. He runs fingers across Gavin’s swollen lips, because leaning down to kiss him from this angle would be awkward. Gavin blinks up at him, pupils obviously blown even in this light, and clambers back into his seat. 

 

They actually stay put and watch the last twenty minutes of the movie. It’s pretty good- not as good as the previous entry, but what can you do. When the credits roll Richard gathers up the mountain of trash from all Gavin’s half-eaten candy packages and throws them out, to try and mitigate the karmic balance of what has just taken place. 

 

Richard drives on the way back. Gavin is a bit quiet, in the way that Richard knows means he’s going to want to be bossed around a bit before he comes. In the meantime, though, he speaks up quietly while they’re stopped at a red light. 

 

“The last time I saw a movie in the theater,” he starts, and Richard glances over in interest. “The last time was in… 1989, it must have been.”

 

“What?” That seems crazy long ago. Richard carefully doesn’t mention that he was an infant at the time. 

 

“Indiana Jones, I think it was. One of them, anyway. I was- with Peter.”

 

It’s very rare for Gavin to even speak Peter Gregory’s name. Richard has a sense that the moment is fragile, stays quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing. He waits for Gavin to say more, but the light changes and soon enough they’re home. The rest of the night is like that, sort of quiet in a good way- open. 

 

Later, with Gavin snoring lightly on his chest, Richard honestly wishes they didn’t have to go back to Palo Alto. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about every single Gavin Belson ship at adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com.


End file.
